Strippers in Tan Trenchcoats
by CastielLovesDean
Summary: A little fluff piece 10 years into Dean and Castiel's happily-married future. Slash. No porn.


**Strippers in Tan Trenchcoats  
**_By Eli_Rogue_

* * *

_Saturday morning, breakfast-ish  
Dean and Castiel's home in Smalltown, U.S.A._

"Dean."

"Cas?" Dean bantered as innocently as he could muster. He knew what this was about.

"Why does my coat smell like perfume?" the stern, gravelly voice intoned.

Oh yeah, Dean knew _exactly_ what this was about....

_

* * *

_

12 hours earlier

_Strip club_

It had been a _long_ time since Dean Winchester had seen a naked woman in person. He was fine with it, really. He loved Castiel more than he ever thought he could love a man, and he was beyond satisfied with their monster-lite, post-apocalyptic, domestic, small-town life. Dean was getting really handy with a lawn mower.

He wouldn't change a thing about his life, but being married to Cas didn't mean he was gay. He still loved women. Fish gotta swim, right? So, for the first time in ten years (Oh my _God_, had it been that long?) Dean Winchester walked into a strip club, borrowed tan trench-coat billowing behind him.

It was louder than he remembered, but he supposed he was just getting old. He ordered a beer, sat at a table, and watched the girls dance from a distance. For a moment it felt wrong – they were getting so _young_. He really wanted to ask for their ID's, but that was probably just lingering paranoia after that really mature chick he'd almost hooked up with at a Denver bar before he and Cas were 'together.' How _do _fifteen-year-olds get into those places, anyway?

Moving on, Dean contemplated his decision to sit at a table instead of his customary spot up against the stage. Perhaps he just wasn't_ that guy _anymore? He finished his beer without taking off Cas's coat, and was about to skulk home to his husband (he was still getting used to calling him that, even after a decade), when someone caught his eye.

She was very small – lean, toned muscles – but more than that, she was _short_. Dean accidentally disturbed himself by thinking sarcastically she'd grow up when she hit puberty. No, she was definitely mature, just super-petite. He watched her slowly cross the club to his table.

She had short, close-cropped black hair that stuck out every which way for a familiar recently-boned look. She was lithe, graceful, and confident, with small breasts yet surprisingly decent cleavage. She was wearing a white lace teddy and sensible matching heels.

"Hey honey," she greeted him with a deep, sultry voice. "Can I give you a lap-dance?"

_Absolutely._ He looked her in the eye. "What's your name, sweetheart?"

"Angel."

Dean smiled. God must have been watching. He remembered the omniscient being's unique sense of humor from that time they met when Dean ended the apocalypse and saved... well, everyone. "No shit. Well, Angel, I'm Dean. I'd like that lap-dance, but," he paused, feeling uncharacteristically shy, "could you do me a favor?"

"_Anything_," she purred. He was pretty sure she meant it.

"Would you put on this coat?" he asked.

Angel raised her eyebrows. "Most guys would rather I take more off."

"It's a special coat," he offered as an explanation.

She agreed happily, and put on the coat. She danced for – and mostly _on_ – Dean, and he could tell with his trained eye that she was highly skilled. She would close the coat, then open it, then use it to hide and slowly reveal parts of her body. He found himself getting thoroughly turned on by the dance. What surprised him a little was that, while he liked her personality, it was thinking about _Cas_ that was doing it for him. When had he gotten so gay?

Probably around the time he married Castiel....

When she was finished, she gave him back the coat and whispered to him, "There are private rooms in back if you want to finish up."

Dean knew all about private rooms in the back. Hell, once upon a time, he was the _king_ of private rooms in the back. He smiled and shook his head. "Angel, I'm old enough to be your father. Besides, I'd better be getting this coat back to my husband. It's his favorite."

She hid her surprise well at his reference to Cas as his husband, and insisted, "Well, bring him by next week and I'll dance for you both."

"Ah," Dean chuckled, "Cas doesn't do well in places like this. He's... kind of innocent."

"Well, I hope I see you again. Have a good evening!"

Dean left the bar. When he got home, he and Cas spent some quality time between the sheets.

_

* * *

_

Saturday morning, breakfast-ish

_Dean and Castiel's home._

"Dean."

"Cas?"

"Why does my coat smell like perfume?"

Dean thought about how to answer the question. What he came up with was, "Would you consider learning how to dance?"

Cas frowned in confusion and cocked his head.

* * *

Fin. Reviews please!


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